


The Lay of Thrym

by Fire_BornOfIce



Series: Edda [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-06 08:25:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14637948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_BornOfIce/pseuds/Fire_BornOfIce
Summary: Mjolnir has gone missing. How will Thor get it back?Part Two of my "shoehorning Norse Mythology into the MCU backstory" series.





	1. Chapter 1

This is all Loki’s fault. As it always is.

Thor often looks past it, but this time it is different. Mjolnir is sacred. And he’s not being melodramatic by saying that; Mjolnir is legitimately an object of immense meaning and value to Thor himself and Asgard. And now it’s in the filthy hands of an ogre, and it’s all Loki’s fault.

Which is why Thor has been standing in front of the door to his chambers for the past few hours, watching his brother pace up and down the room, and won’t move until he’s come up with a way to get Mjolnir back.

“Tell me what he demanded again?”

Thor groans. “For the last time, brother. The sun, the moon and the hand of the Lady Freyja in marriage.”

Loki stops pacing and nods. “As expected.”

By asking for the sun and the moon, Thrym – the ogre in question – is basically asking for the throne of Asgard and control of the Nine Realms. Asking for Lady Freyja – the most beautiful goddess in the realm – is just insult to injury. Neither Thor nor Loki have the authority to give other either.

“I can’t believe you let him put his hands on it.”

“It was a very good disguise, brother. And you shouldn’t leave it lying around.”

They have already shouted at each other about this, and Thor threw a punch that missed because Loki conjured a duplicate and was actually half way down the corridor. That isn’t going to happen again. Now is the time for plans.

“I…”

“Yes!” Thor perks up as Loki approaches him.

“I… I…”

Thor nods eagerly.

“I have no idea what to do.”

Thor slumps against the wall. “Father is going to kill us.”

Loki sits down beside him. “He wouldn’t do that. He’ll kill Thrym.”

“But Thrym has Mjolnir.”

Loki inhales. A sharp hiss. Deep down they both know that Thrym, even with Mjolnir in hand, is no match for Odin. But this is their problem and it isn’t up to their father to solve it. Odin would want them to be wise. To be clever. To prove their worth.

There is a knock at the door. Thor forces a ‘nothing wrong here’ grin onto his face, and Loki backs out of sight, then Thor answers.  A nervous servant shudders and stutters in the prince’s shadow.

“You… You have been summoned…”

Thor looks over his shoulder, meeting Loki’s eye. Odin must know. He’s calling them to their office to reprimand then.

“… by Heimdall.”

Oh.

That was unexpected. 


	2. Chapter Two

To Heimdall’s credit, he does not laugh.

To Loki’s credit, he at least stifles his laughter.

Thor is not happy. Not happy at all.

“I wish that ogre had asked for Sif’s hand in marriage. She’d march up to him and give him a piece of her mind, and bring Mjolnir back herself.”

“Unfortunately, unlike Sif, Lady Freyja cannot get her pretty hands dirty,” said Loki. “Unless it’s by putting them all over her brother,” he hisses, under his breath. Heimdall, of course, hears him, but says nothing.

“Freyja will not go within a mile of an ogre,” Thor grumbles.

“His name is Thrym,” Heimdall gently reminds them. “You should know the name of your host. He is currently residing in a guest hall on a neutral piece of ground within the nine realms, an asteroid orbiting Jotunheim.”

Thor and Loki exchange a glance. Neither of them has stepped foot on Jotunheim. It is like a forbidden realm, shrouded in secret and haunted by the monsters of storybooks. Only Odin ever goes there with his most trusted advisers, to keep the tense peace with Laufey, once a century at most. His young sons, only just at their adulthood, are too green to join him yet. Even if this orbiting rock is neutral ground, unclaimed by any realm, it will be the closest they”ve ever gone. All the more reason to keep this quest a secret.

Heimdall continues. “I cannot send you by Bifrost, but I can point you in a direction that will take you to the doorstep of the guest house. You can take a barge.”

Loki’s eyes light up. “You mean to send us through a portal?”

“Portals are unstable and temporary things,” Heimdall warns. “Most are even hidden to my eyes. You would do well not to seek them out, my young prince. You may walk through one and never find a way back.” He turns to Thor. “I will say nothing of this to the Allfather until the sun rises. Unless, of course, you tell me that he does not need to know.”

Thor nods in understanding.

“Now, there is one last step to my plan. You had better go and prepare, my princes.”

Thor’s face falls and Loki’s smile twists into a grin.

“Are the Lady Freyja’s chambers currently occupied, watcher?” asks the trickster.

Heimdall smiles. “They are not, and shall not be for some time, I would wager.”

The princes turn from the guardian, and as they walk back to the palace Thor finds himself disliking Loki’s expression more and more.

“One word of this to anyone, brother, and I will kill you.”


	3. Chapter Three

Thor returns to his room. He is unwilling to lose sight of Loki for even a second, but two people breaking into Freyja’s room would look even more suspicious than just one, and Thor trusts that Loki would not be seen.

He’s barely sat down and thought how stupid this idea was when his brother returns, a bundle of silks in his arms. He throws a green gown aside (but of course Loki found a green gown) and lays out the white one on the bed.

“This shall take some work,” he says.

Thor paces up and down once more, restless and agitated without Mjolnir in his hand. His fist keeps clenching and unclenching but she does not answer his call.

“Would you stop that?” Loki snaps, not looking up from his work. “It’s very distressing. I keep thinking that hammer will fly into your hand and you’ll knock my head off with it.”

“Believe me I’m thinking about it,” Thor grumbles.

Loki sniffs. Then, a few moments later, straightens up. “There.”

Thor stares at the dress. Its shape has been… altered, to put it plainly, for a larger and much different sort of body than Lady Freyja’s.

“Come on then. Off with your armour, brother,” says Loki, sounding far too cheerful.

Thor reluctantly shrugs off his clothes. As brothers, and as fellow warriors, they’ve seen each other in states of undress many times before, but this still feels odd; taking off his comfortable, familiar clothes in order to get into a stolen dress, altered by magic.

Thor tries not to look in the mirror whilst Loki helps him into the dress. There’s a lot more to it thanhe thought. Mostly he tears dresses off women, when he invites them to bed. You don’t need to know the parts to do that. You just need to know what’s underneath and what to do with it. Loki keeps mumbling random words. “Bodice. Corset. Petticoat.” What business does Loki have knowing exactly how a dress goes together… and how to magically alter one. And Norns he could swear Loki’s pulling the laces this tight on purpose. He can barely breathe and the silk is surely going to tear.

He has to sit down once Loki is finished. He feels exposed like this. There’s nothing covering his legs except layers of netting and silk. Nothing else between his nether regions and the air. It’s too vulnerable.

“Stop moving your legs around and sit like a lady, brother,” Loki chides, pulling off his tunic. Thor rolls his eyes. Loki strips completely naked before even picking up the gown.

His brother has an… interesting reputation, to say the least. He swears to the Norns he’s indulged plenty of women, but Thor’s never seen him with one, nor a man. He flirts. He dances. He kisses hands. He glances at stablehands over his shoulder and nods as if to suggest something. But Thor never catches him pulling them aside, or hears the telltale sounds from his room. Of course, if there’s some of feast or dance or party happening, Thor usually ends up with a partner of his own, and couldn’t care less what – or who – his brother is doing. He just doesn’t understand Loki’s attitude. People assume Loki just doesn’t have sex, or that he’s incredibly discreet. But he’ll wander shamelessly nude around the bathhouse, and the changing rooms at the training ground, or his personal chambers. The combination makes little sense in Thor’s mind.

The gown doesn’t need any altering for Loki. It fits him like a glove. Then again, Loki and Freyja have similar lithe frames. She just has a much bigger chest.

His brother looks into the mirror and slowly his face changes. Subtly. Lightly. Becoming less sharp. And he can swear the bodice looks… fuller than a few seconds ago. Thor can’t help but stare at the reflection in the mirror.

“Like what you see Thor?” The illusion breaks as Loki’s snide voice issues from the mouth. Softer features aside, this is still his brother speaking.

“Okay. My turn,” Thor says, sitting up, and immediately sinking down again as the corset squeezes his torso.

“Sit up. Freyja has good posture,” Loki chides. “And I cannot change your face. I am a shapeshifter, my powers don’t extend to other people. I could cast an illusion of Freyja’s face over you but it would be incredibly difficult to maintain, to match every one of your movements. If I was distracted, it would be spoiled. You have to do this yourself.”

He flicked his hand and a flat blade appears. “Now, let’s have a look at that chin of yours…”

Thor stands up, towering over Loki even as he backs away from that threatening razer. “No. Don’t you dare touch my beard!”

It shouldn’t be possible for Loki to look any more annoyed. “The Lady Freyja does not have a beard. You cannot have one.”

“No.” Thor crossed his arms. “I’ll wear a veil.”

Loki smirks. “You would wear a veil, regardless of the beard or not. Thrym is not short sighted enough to mistake your face for the most beautiful in all the realms.”

“So it was entirely unnecessary to threaten to shave me.”

“Basically.”

“Vile trickster.”

 

Thor insists on a cloak of illusion to hide them from view whilst they sneak to the barge-house. Thor hopes that Heimdall makes good on his promise to avert his eyes. He sits down and tries to feel comfortable. Ladylike, as Loki would put it. Loki steers the barge to the place Heimdall directed them, warns him when the portal approaches, and Thor braces himself.

Beyond is the guest hall, and a welcoming party of the ugliest creatures Thor has ever seen across the nine realms.

Thrym is waiting for them.


	4. Chapter 4

Thor has never felt so surrounded by enemies. Not even on the battlefield. Thrym is just one of many ogres towering over himself and Loki. And below them, hunched goblins. There is no escaping up or down. Paranoia sets in quickly. Thor is sure everyone in here sees through their disguises. He sweats under his veil. It hides his face well – only his eyes and his hair can be seen through the thinnest parts of the netting – but damn if it isn’t hot.

If Loki feels the same way, he hides it behind curtseys and simpering. “Allmighty Thrym, kind host, great lord of giants,” etc., etc. His voice disguises well, and that is thankful.

“Do not speak a word. Let me do the talking,” he’d hissed in Thor’s ear as they were escorted into the hall. “ _My lady_.”

There is no sign of Mjolnir, and she still will not answer Thor’s call.

Thrym has made himself a sort of throne. Or possibly stolen. It’s made from the flotsam and jetsam of space, as if to say that Thrym is king of where all that debris came from. Like space itself is paying him tribute. The ogre sits upon it and pats his leg. “Come, sit, my princess.”

Loki curtseys so low before him that his nose almost brushes the floor. “My apologies, Mighty Thrym. It is against Asgardian tradition for the bride and groom to, ahem, sit together until the ceremony is done.”

Thrym glares. “The Lady Freyja can speak for herself.”

“The Lady Freyja has taken a vow of silence, until the wedding is over. That is a Vanir tradition,” Loki lies. “If the Lady is to become your bride, let her at least keep her own culture until all is done.”

Thrym thinks about it and Thor tenses all over. Then he clicks his thick fingers and a chair is brought forward, placed at the right side of Thrym’s. Thor sits down.

“She can keep her traditions. I’ve got my own,” the ogre warns. “Feast, then bed.”

Thor feels his cheeks turn red.

“Very well, my lord,” Loki whispers, and walks away to stand behind Thor’s chair, the diligent maid. The ogre’s horrid friends take their own seats and the feast is brought out. Thor’s mouth begins to water so hard he forgets about the sweat.  The sweet smell of wine washes over the table, followed by the heavy scent of meat.

Thrym serves himself the lion’s share, leaving the creatures and beasts to crawl over the table, fighting and clawing for the rest. Luckily Thor does not have to get involved, Thrym clearly intends for them to feed from the same plate. However, that leaves him with another problem. How to eat with a veil covering his face?

“Is my princess not hungry?” asked Thrym, an entire leg of venison in his mouth.

Loki steps in. “Alongside the vow of silence, Vanir brides and grooms fast until after the consummation of the marriage,” he quickly says. “The feast is usually, um, after the consummation. And lasts several days.” That last part is true, at least.

Thrym laughs, spitting chunks of meat all across the table. Some of the smaller goblins grab those bits and swallow them down. Thor feels very sick. “My lady does look hungry. Her eyes are full of fire. Be patient, my lady. Don’t starve so much you can’t bring that fire to bed. I’ll feed you well, my princess.”

Thor turns his face away in anger, which Thrym chuckles at, thinking its bashfulness.

As the feast goes on, it is clear that the ogre is getting impatient. He wants what he was promised. The ransom for Mjolnir. The feast is just for show. The brute wants one thing and one thing only of Lady Freyja.  Thor itches too. He is so close to Mjolnir, he just knows. He’ll fight Thrym with his bare hands if he has to, and if they are alone in the bedroom and Thrym is off his guard, maybe Thor can win. Maybe. If Thrym doesn’t call for help…

At last, Thrym gets to his feet. “Continue to feast, my friends. The Lady and I are going to complete the wedding ceremony in my private chambers!”

Thor stands too. Loki leans forwards. “I read that some wedding ceremonies for giants involve the groom’s weapon.”

Thor narrows his eyes.

“Not like that,” Loki replies. “An actual sword. Its laid across the lap of the bride. Hopefully, Thrym will have a different weapon for that particular part of the ceremony. He’ll want to show it off.”

Mjolnir. Thor nods. Then Thrym is grabbing his silk-gloved hand and urging him along. Loki makes to follow but a claw lands on his shoulder.

“Stay and drink, pretty,” slurs a wrinkled man with cloven hoofs instead of feet. Loki forces a smile.

“Go ahead, my lady. Good luck.”

For the first time since Mjolnir went missing, Thor feels sympathy for his brother.


	5. Chapter 5

The “bridal suite” isn’t much to look at. It’s on the same level as the dankest taverns Thor has had the misfortune of visiting. Dark, hot, and stinking. Luckily the darkness makes it impossible to see what is causing the stink.

But he does feel something, and that is the presence of Mjolnir, closer than ever. In this room.

Thrym stumbles over the threshold after his supposed bride, and with his long legs makes it to the bed first. Thor lingers by the doorway, feigning nervousness as he glances from side to side, trying to seek out Mjolnir.

“Come’re darlin’. No need to be fri-friten-scared,” Thrym slurs. Thor edges towards the bed, slow as possible, knowing that if Thrym gets his hands on him he’ll tear off his veil, or just the whole dress, and the jig will be up. He needs to have Mjolnir in his hand. That’s the only way.

Thor makes a playful, tittering noise. As high pitched as he can make it. Luckily, Thrym is too drunk to notice if it sounds wrong, which Thor is most certain it does. Thrym makes a grab for Thor, who skips out of the way. Not that he needed too. Thrym was way off. He wouldn’t have been able to touch Thor even if he hadn’t moved.

Now Thor realises why Loki lied that he was unable to eat or drink. Past the removal of the veil, Thor is completely sober, he has his senses. Thrym, is drunk out of his wits, and drunkenness has left him stupid. Left him weak.

Thor gingerly sits down on the edge of the bed. He still feels horrifically exposed, horrifically undefended, but he at least has half a plan. Thrym reaches for him again. This time Thor bats his hands away, pretending to be playful, but actually forceful. Again, Thrym doesn’t protest or mention how aggressive “Lady Freyja” is being.

“Oh… Got to respect your traditions?”

Thor nods. He swings his legs, thinking it must look like he’s teasing, wanting. How do girls behave when they want to get into his bed, again?

A glimmer catches his eye and Thor looks down. Sticking out from underneath the bed is a one end of a very familiar handle. It’s all Thor can do not to reach down and grab Mjolnir at once. But the handle wasn’t the thing that gleamed.

“Oh… Want a look, do ya?”

Thrym stretches out a meaty hand and grabs the handle (after a couple of failed swipes). With a horrid shriek of metal and metal dragging on the floorboards, the ogre pulls Mjolnir from under the bed. Thor is horrified at the treatment. A fine, ancient weapon like her should be treated with respect. Thrym hefts her up onto his lap. Mjolnir is wrapped in chains. Dwarf-made star metal. Not as finely crafted as Mjolnir herself, of course, but dreadfully heavy and near impossible to break. Even Thor can’t wield her properly in this state. Thrym himself has trouble lifting both hammer and chains at once. It’s even a strain lying on his knees.

“Fine thing, ain’t it?” Thrym laughs. Thor attempts a giggle in return. “Won this, I did, in glorious battle.”

Oh, did he now? Thor knows a good liar when he sees one. He has one for a brother. Thrym is not a good liar.

“Tradition, ain’t it? To put this on the bride’s lap.”

The ogre lifts Mjolnir a few inches, making to move it to Thor’s lap. Thor holds up his hands, a signal, - stop, wait! He gestures to the chains.

Thoughts jumble around Thrym’s drink-clouded brain.

“Oh… Got to… Don’t want to crush ya… Not before the main event…”

There is no obvious lock, or keyhole, or key. Thrym fiddles with the chains, until he finds something that must look different to him than the rest of the links, and runs his pointer finger across it. With a soft click, the chains open, and with a much louder crash they tumble to the floor.

Thrym softly sets Mjolnir down on Thor’s lap, speaking as he does so.

“I won it, didn’t I? Off that stupid god o’ thunder. I told other prince I’d give it back if you married me, but now I’m thinkin’… Nah! Tricked the trickster, I did! But it was an epic fight, it was. There I was, in the middle of a thunderstorm, grappling with Thor ‘imself! I thought I was a goner, but somehow I managed to grab the hammer, tore it off him, belt an’ all, and raised it high above my ‘ead…”

 _A fine fairy tale for the children_ , Thor thinks. _Shame it doesn’t have an ending_.

 

The feasting hall is in chaos. Of course it is. Thor was expecting chaos, but he was not sure form that chaos would take. Either a room full of dead bodies with his brother standing triumphant in the middle, or his brother lying helpless at the mercy of the horde. This is neither.

The horde is helpless, alright, and Loki is certainly in the middle of them. On the table. Dancing and singing at the top of his lungs. The skirts of the green dress swish about his brother’s legs as he parades up and down the table, a tankard in one hand. His moves are absolutely precise, avoiding the scattered debris of the feast, making it look effortless. Every eye is on him, so no one even notices that Thor has returned, despite what _he_ is carrying in his hands.  Loki’s voice is surprisingly sweet, too sweet for the bawdy drinking song he leads the creatures in. Thor isn’t entirely sure if he’s putting it on or not.

A few of the more intrepid creatures crawl onto the table, reaching out to grab at Loki. The trickster sees them coming, and playfully kicks them aside.

Loki spots Thor. With barely a pause in his performance, he gives a signal to wait. He knows what he’s doing. He’s fine.

But with the small distraction, it gives a burly orc the chance to grab hold of Loki’s ankle. Loki tumbles to the table. The tankard’s contents spills everywhere. Loki’s head snaps up, looking Thor in the eye and he manages to shake his head before he’s dragged close to the orc.

The orc, triumphant hunter of this prize, growls and hoots happily, as the Lady Freyja’s pretty maid picks herself up and turns to face him. But it is no maid’s face he sees.

“You got ale on my dress,” Loki hisses, and his voice and his face are completely his own, all his magical alterations gone. The orc recoils in shock. The horde shriek and chatter, and that’s when Thor makes his move.

“You weren’t going to start the fun without me, I hope, brother.”

The horde turn to see the “Lady Freyja”, dress ruined with splashes of blood, rip off her veil, and fling the severed head of Thrym upon the feasting table.

Loki conjures a knife. “I would never.”

Half the horde run for the door. The other half grab for their weapons.

Half the horde is wise.

 

Heimdall checks the position of the sun in the sky as he sees the flash of a barge appearing through a portal. He sees two young men, torn and stained gowns hanging off them, exhausted from the battle, leaning on each other as the barge steers into land. He sees the hammer – which will never be let out of its owner’s sight again – hanging off a belt, which appears to have been stolen from some sort of outer realms creature.

The sun is just rising.

Heimdall smiles. He never had any doubts.

Well, maybe one or two.


End file.
